Dark Angel's Embrace
by wltdnfaded
Summary: Part III of the Dark Angel Series. Having been MIA for three months following the Battle of Yavin, Darth Vader returns to his mistress on Coruscant. WARNING: Adult situations and sexuality.


**Dark Angel's Embrace**

**(Part III of the Dark Angel Series)**

_**In Memory of Moisie**_

Date: Three Standard Months After the Destruction of Death Star I

Like scarlet specters guarding the maw of the dimensional hells, the quartet of the Emperor's Royal Guard stood noiseless and inert on either side of the massive five-meter tall obsidian door. Planted several meters before them, the squad of eight Imperial Black Hole stormtroopers stood just as rigid and silent, blasters poised across their armored chests, their buffed black armor mimicking the gleaming onyx floors beneath them. They had stood like this, facing each other, opposing chess pieces controlled by similar hands, expressionless, solid, and undaunted by the howls of torture that had been coming from the other side of the colossal doors for the last several hours…

Beyond the doors lay a chamber carved of the finest obsidian in the galaxy, scores of meters wide as it was high. The far wall of the massive room was one huge window that looked out across the Imperial Throneworld's soaring skyline, the city-planet once known as Coruscant. The floors, laid with the same polished stone, caught the diminishing light of the setting sun and glistened like a pool at midnight. The room was devoid of any furniture, save for two objects. One was an enormous onyx chair centered in the window, the Emperor's throne; the second, an immense durasteel X-shaped brace jutting from the shimmering floor. The chamber would have almost presented an atmosphere of dark serenity, had the effect not been marred by the shrieking, thrashing bulk of Darth Vader.

His limbs stretched wide, Vader hung from the brace, held there by thick durasteel spikes bolted through his cybernetic wrists and ankles. Wisped ends of wire frayed from out of the wounds, and synthe-plasma the color of crude dripped from the punctures, pooling on the floor, marring its sheen. Between his hoarse, tortured cries, Vader's chest quaked and heaved with frantic attempts to override his respirator and take in desperately needed air on his own, but to no avail. The crease of his helm cut into his skull base, and the underside of his breathing mask sliced across his already scarred face with every thrash and seizure; but these small lesions were insignificant compared to the agony within the shattered window of his own tortured mind.

The stooped figure of the Emperor sat withered in his throne, contoured against the late afternoon light of peach and maroon, his hooded head tipped slightly down. He was weary, yes. Despite the decades of manipulating his physiology into something no longer completely human, small beads of sweat still managed to douse his brow and betray his complete control over his involuntary functions. The hours of administering the Force-lightning torture had been easy, and not too terribly taxing. But this…this work had always proven to be significantly demanding on him, no matter how he would prepare himself for it or how often he would dispense it. Yes, weaving his telepathic tendrils into the psychic garret of Vader's mind and ripping his sanity apart from the inside always wore poor Sidious out. Waking nightmares were a particularly laborious torment of the Dark Side.

Sidious lifted his hood slightly as he witnessed the newest image of horror blaze through Vader's mind.

"NO! NO, PLEASE! MOTHER!!! NO GODS, PLEASE, PLEASE! HANG ON! GIVE ME YOUR HAND! IT CAN'T BURN YOU IF YOU HOLD MY HAND! DON'T LET GO! NO! NO! DON'T LET-- NOOOOOO! AAAAAAHHH!" And with that final scream that ricocheted off the frigid obsidian walls, Vader's enormous hulk lurched forward off the cross. Sidious sighed with what one could almost call pity as the image of Shmi Skywalker, sinking and screaming into an ocean of Mustafar's molten lava, seared through his mind. There, he could smell her hair smoldering, see her meat crackling and blackening and curling off her bones, and watched her eyes bulge from the sockets as she screamed for her son's hand.

With a breath and a tiny flick of his finger, Palpatine altered the nightmare as easily as he would switch frequencies on the holonet. Vader's screams of horror altered as well, becoming deeper, menacing; the words spit were of a raging adolescent. "You. It's your fault, it's ALL your fault! You hate me, The Council hates me, you're all jealous of my power! Nothing was ever good enough for you! You took EVERYTHING FROM ME! EVERYTHING!" His roar suddenly erupted into a triumphant cacophony of laughter barbed with madness. "HA! THERE! Who's the master NOW? Who holds the power of life and death in his hands? Burn, you spiteful, treacherous son of a bitch! BURN IN HELL!"

A raise of the Emperor's eyebrow brought forth another image, and with it another anguished scene for Vader. "Not you. No, not you too," His resplendent bass, now hoarse with misuse, cracked with a sob. "I did it for you. I did it all for you, and our…Ah, gods…" His entire body quaked with weeping. "Come back. Don't leave, please don't leave me. Everyone leaves me…Look at me…who could ever want me…like this…?"

A slow, sated smile crept under Palpatine's black hood. As he had done many, many times throughout the last twenty years, he had pummeled Vader's mental barricades, had smashed through any defenses, leaving his apprentice drained, broken, and pliable to his commands. Now was the time to imprint his visage on Vader's mind, as his apprentice's one and only friend, his confidant, as his parent and teacher, as his whole reason for existence…raising his hood ever so slightly, Palpatine prepared himself for the final mental caress…

Until a new image flashed through his mind, an avatar not of his making, but of Vader's. Murky and unfamiliar, it slithered across Sidious's mind's eye: Pale tones of ivory flesh, slender hands with tapered fingers snaking down his apprentice's scarred, tube-implanted chest, a caress of lips, a ragged cry, eyes clenched closed and mouth agape with passion, the undeniable rhythm of human coupling, and a brief flash of scarlet hair thrown back in sexual fury and dire need…And when Vader spoke again, a web of want, desire, and doubt spun over Sidious's psyche, and the Emperor wrought his brow in angered bewilderment.

"Why, Sa,thraxxx?" Vader's chest constricted. "How could you…want…a monster? You want the darkness…are you…like me…inside? Are you a …beast?" Vader's mask rolled from side to side, his massive chest heaving slowly, rhythmically. "A beautiful beast…?"

The swelling bulge stretching Vader's codpiece did not escape the Emperor's attention either.

Rage roiled through Palpatine's insides, his gnarled fingers gripping the arms of his throne. A new companion lurked in the shadows now, a new tether for his apprentice to grasp, a new surrogate for his needs.

Throwing up his arms, Palpatine sliced his hands through the air, breaking his psychic bondage. Vader's screams pealed off the walls as the Emperor's tendrils ripped from his mind, his whole mass convulsing and twisting. With a small, tired wave of his hand, the Emperor released the bolts through Vader's limbs, and they slammed back into the onyx brace. Vader slid hard to the floor with a resounding crash. With great effort, the Dark Lord pushed himself into a fetal fold, his helm slunk between his arms. For many long, excruciating moments, the only sound in the vast chamber was that of the mighty Dark Lord panting frantically through his respirator.

Palpatine glared at his apprentice, waiting for his desperate breaths to slow, before he chose to address him. "You wound me, child. You have torn at the very fabric of my heart. You have betrayed me."

Vader's helm sunk even lower. The shrill, childish staccato that had wracked his voice during the torture was gone, and his resonant bass, albeit rasped, had returned. "I deserve no forgiveness, my Master, that I know. I underestimated the Rebels' tenacity, and I dismissed their fortitude. I have failed you."

"BAH!" Palpatine barked, exploding to his feet. "The REBELS? You think I speak of that motley mob of thieves and terrorists!" He began to descend the dais staircase. "Twenty years of research, planning, building, wiped out in an instant! A million of the Empire's finest, gone in the blink of an eye! Our greatest achievement, our monument to our eminence, vanished! And the irony of it all? THAT, my friend, I can forgive." He stopped his slow, menacing approach a meter shy of his kneeling, shattered apprentice. "Materials can be restored. Men can be replaced, as there is never a shortage of those ravenous for power and privilege. And even such achievements as a Death Star can-- and will-- be built again. But…" His voice softened to a hurt growl. "How does one return…trust? How does one cement a union that has taken decades to enmesh, only to be rent asunder through deceit! After all of our years together, after everything I have given you--your power, your body, everything--now you keep _SECRETS_ from me?"

Vader's chest seized clear through to his shoulders. Having no recollection whatsoever of the waking nightmares, fear and desperation twined through what remained organic of his body. What had his master seen? "My Master, everything I own, everything I am basks in the glory of your dominion. I would never—"

"And now you lie to me as well?" A heavy sigh permeated from under the black hood, and thin, dark cloaked arms folded over his thin chest. "Look at me." Vader obeyed, lifting his mask to meet the Emperor's sickly yellow eyes. With a curl to his lip that could have been either disgust or amusement, Palpatine murmured, "You have taken a lover, boy."

Vader's eyes clenched behind his optic screens, and he swallowed hard. Sidious had seen her, there was no point in denying it now. "Yes, my Master."

"Without my permission or approval?"

"Yes, my Master." Palpatine's rage and jealousy stabbed through Vader. He set to appease his master, as the practice now had become rote. "I thought it of no importance, Master. An opportunity presented itself. I…took it."

"I see." Turning, the Emperor slid slowly across the gleaming floors back toward the staircase in his creeping manner. He ascended silently to stop in front of the massive window, leaving his hulking apprentice kneeling and penitent for what seemed to be an eternity of quiet. Finally, the Emperor spoke. "Is it a male or female?"

Vader raised his helm to peer at the Emperor. A small smile tugged, albeit painfully, at his scarred lip as he narrowed his eyes. So, Palpatine hadn't seen everything; his shields had worked somewhat, if not completely. The smile, however, melted as quickly as his tiny triumph, as he was now obliged to answer his Master's questions. "A woman, Master."

"A woman." The Emperor chuckled murkily. "Yes, of course. You always did have a weakness for them." His twisted smile grew even wider as he felt humiliation jolt from his apprentice. "Human?"

"Yes, Master. Fellenetian."

"Fellenetian? Hmmm, attractive race, that." Turning over his shoulder, the Emperor asked, "Tell me, boy…has she seen your face?"

Vader swallowed his degradation down to the depths of his bowels as he answered softly, "Yes, Master."

Palpatine turned completely around, his hood set at an incredulous tilt. "And she didn't run screaming? She was still willing to bed with you? My, there is some fortitude in this lover, isn't there?"

"Yes, Master," Vader replied dully before raising his mask to glare directly at his master and adding as firmly as he dared, "She is… unique."

"Indeed?" Palpatine snarled quietly. A pause. "Who is she? Anyone from court? An officer? A noble?"

"No, Master. She is the newest Enforcer in your Inquest Corps."

"Her name is…Sa'thraxxx?"

Vader fought a shudder. Had he said her name…? "Yes, Master."

"That is a Sith name."

"Yes, Master. I gave it to her."

"Does she love you?"

A pause. "No, my Master. She offered herself as a means of promotion."

Palpatine raised a hairless brow once more. "Indeed. Well, if she is not a courtier, she certainly behaves like one. Offering sex for promotion? Yes, it seems you have chosen wisely…so far." Slowly, he came around the dais to seat himself on the throne. Easing himself back and heaving a satisfied sigh, Palpatine held his kneeling apprentice in his eye before he commanded, "I will meet this lover, boy."

Vader's voice remained steady. "Yes, my Master."

"She will be sent an invitation to the Coronation Day celebration. There, she will be presented to me."

"Yes, Master."

"But before then, I will watch you with her."

The black dome of Vader's helm rose again to meet his master's glare. "Watch me with her? I…do not understand, Master—"

"Oh, of course you do, child." Rising from his throne, Palpatine again descended toward his apprentice. "When you leave here, you will summon her to you. And you will open yourself to me as you rut." Again, the dim chuckle frothed from his decrepit throat as he leaned down and cradled Vader's mask within his hands. "I must determine if she is worthy of you, boy. I cannot have my heir apparent cavorting with little more than a gutterslut now, can I?"

Behind his optic screens, Vader closed his eyes. In the twenty some years within his Master's bondage, he had never had to perform sexually for him. Yes, there had been manipulations before, when the Emperor invaded his mind and toyed with the pleasure centers there, but Palpatine had always explained that practice was merely used as stress relief, to keep him focused and undistracted from his work. There had never been any physical demands made upon him. Until now.

Again, that dark chuckle gurgled through the air of the throneroom, slinking across the floors and ceiling. "I can feel your hate, boy," Sidious croaked, caressing Vader's mask. He took back his skeletal hand, enfolding it into his voluminous sleeve. "Now go." He turned away. "And do not dissatisfy me."

Shakily, Vader rose to his feet, and pulled himself to his full stature. "Yes, my Master," he rumbled softly, attempting to disguise the loathing in his voice before turning toward the enormous doors. With an exhausted wave of his hand, the doors slowly opened to his bidding, the massive hinges shrieking throughout the chamber.

As he stepped out into the glistening foyer, the doors crept shut…and Vader slumped to his knees, falling forward on his elbows. Although the Emperor's scarlet guard never moved from their posts, Vader's Black Hole Troopers rushed to their fallen Master. It took four of them, on either side of Vader, to hoist him back to his feet and hold him steady. The Dark Lord pulled all the power of the Dark Side into his weakened body, enveloping his limbs with its energy, to hold him erect.

It was then he heard the stray thought of one of his Troopers slide across his consciousness—

So, the all-powerful Lord of the Sith isn't so powerful after all.

Vader raised his mask, slowly, toward the Trooper standing behind the three others before him. He raised his arm, still in the grasp of his troops, in front of him, and curled his gloved hand into a fist.

The trooper suddenly dropped his blaster, the clang of it ricocheting through the cavernous halls, as his hands went to his throat. He staggered backwards, writhing and jerking, his sick gasps for air squeaking through his helmet's vocoder. Hitting a wall, he slid to the floor, thrashing, choking, trying frantically to remove his helm, until his armored body stiffened with one last seizure, and then slumped still on the cold floor.

The effort put forth was too much, too soon. Vader stumbled slightly, still in the clutches of his troops. He turned his mask slightly to one side. "Take me back to my fortress," he ordered quietly. "Commander."

A Black Hole Trooper with a red slash painted across his chest plate stepped forward. "My Lord?"

"See the body is disposed of accordingly, and have a fresh recruit sent from the Clone Facilities to replace him." He raised his mask slightly as he fought to take in a much-needed breath through his respirator. "You and a complement will then go to the Inquest Corps Headquarters…and bring Enforcer Sa'thraxxx to me."

The POP of the old man's shoulders being pulled from their sockets was plainly audible in the blaring white room. His screams were further amplified when the bindings around his ankles lurched forward, snapping his aged hips and knees loose from their joints.

"Not exactly the way you thought it would end, is it?" asked a hushed, amused contralto. "You had it all planned—retire to a lovely green temperate world, open a small curio shop, and live out the rest of your days free and relaxed, unfettered by the strife of the surrounding galaxy."

The massive wheel-like structure he was stretched upon rotated forward, gears whining, bringing him to eye level with his inquisitor. Despite his agony, he glared a hole through the back of his torturer's skull. She stood with a relaxed, casual air, her back to him, her long hands set upon the lazy curve of her slender hips. Her blood-red leather bodysuit encased her like a second skin, with straps and buckles accentuating her most pleasing physical features, the back cut out from the high stiff collar all the way down to the subtle dimples just above her buttocks. Leather stiletto boots the same hue hugged her taut thighs.

"But," Lylla Sa'thraxxx sighed wearily, bringing the glimmer-spice cigarette to her lips and taking a long, deliberate drag, "for some reason, you felt you needed to get involved. Kashyyk not exciting enough for your old bones, was that it? Or does the glorious progress of our esteemed Empire rattle your sensibilities?"

"Glorious progress," spat the old man through harsh breaths. "Is that what you call enslaving the Wookiees—"

Her willowing height and those elegant hands betrayed the speed and ferociousness with which she could use them. Spinning around, she paced only two steps before smashing her lead-weighted gloved fist across his aged jaw. "You will NOT speak until I give order! And you will speak ONLY when you tell me what I want to hear!" Grabbing a fistful of his white hair, she jerked his head up and forward, forcing him to stare into her silver eyes. "That cargo ship contained over two thousand Wookiee slaves en route to a classified Imperial labor destination. Now I will ask you again—who was your Rebel contact onboard that ship, and where was it rerouted?"

The old man's answer came in the form of bloody saliva that hit just under her kohl-smudged eye. A slow, amused smirk played across Lylla's full scarlet lips as she released the old man's hair and delicately wiped the spittle away. Taking one last drag off the joint, she leaned in, her lips just grazing his own, and blew the smoke down his throat as she purred, "Wrong answer."

With that, she pressed a tiny button on the remote fastened to her belt, sending savage shocks of electricity through the electrodes clamped on the old man's nipples and privates under his tattered clothing.

Screams pealed off the barren walls once again, the old man thrashing in spite of his broken limbs. With the press of another button, the torture wheel rotated again, sending him up and over to dangle upside down. Lylla's heels clicked the durasteel floor in an unhurried cadence as she met him on the other side. She waited until the man's head cleared mere centimeters from the floor before she stopped both rotation and current.

"You Rebels are so delightfully stubborn," she chuckled, dropping the joint and crushing it under her boot. "And your tenacity for a man your age impresses me…but not terribly so." She came to stand above him, planting a boot on either side of his head. Slowly, she lowered herself into a crouch, grasping the side of the wheel for support, until the old man's nose was just a breath from her crotch. The old man sputtered, as the musk of her sex mingled with the scent of leather, wafting into his nostrils.

Watching the scene through hidden holocameras, the High Lord Inquisitor Tremayne pulled his own nostrils wide in a disgusted sneer. "Trash," he hissed through his teeth.

"One must admit, Lord Inquisitor," his younger male aide interjected, "she is effective."

"Oh yes, effective. Effective in befouling a noble profession, to which I have dedicated my life, with her harlot ways."

The aide looked nervously about their antechamber. "Patience, my Lord. With all due respect to your wisdom and greatness, I feel the need to advise you keep your voice down in regard to our newest Enforcer." He awkwardly cleared his throat.

The older man turned in his seat, looking down his long aquiline nose at his aide. "Meaning?"

The younger man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "There have been rumors, my Lord. Rumors that connect Enforcer Sa'thraxxx with—"

"I know perfectly well with whom she is affiliated, Braxone," The High Lord murmured stoically. Braxone opened his mouth to warn him again, but was cut off by a curt wave of Tremayne's hand as Lylla spoke again through the speakers.

"Ah," Lylla sighed, her smile darkly satisfied, "you are not so old that you no longer appreciate the scent of a woman, hmmm?" She chuckled again as the old man choked and writhed under her. "Yes, it is hard to resist. They say that scent is the greatest aphrodisiac there is, driving men into a frenzied state of lust. Hopefully, the squadron of stormtroopers holding your daughter has been able to keep themselves in check."

The old man stilled, and his aged eyes gaped in horror. "Wh…what?"

Lylla straightened her long legs, bending at the waist and tipping her head down until her eyes were parallel to the old man's. "Oh, did I not mention that before? My apologies." She pulled herself up to her full height. "She wasn't at all hard to find. A simple cross-reference of your name in the Imperial databanks told us of her location. And she was right here on Coruscant, of all places. How convenient." She initiated the remote on her belt again, and the torture wheel rolled up and forward again.

"No, NO!" begged the old man as her whirled forward. "Please, she doesn't know anything about this—"

"Would you like to see her?" Lylla asked. Another flick of a tiny switch, and a hologram shot from the projector in the wall. A young woman was bound to a chair, her clothes ripped, mouth gagged, her eyes swollen, red, and terrified. Around her stood several white-armored stormtroopers, some with their helmets and gloves off. Their laughter was guttural and harsh as they groped her breasts and ran their hands through her thick brown hair. The girl cried through her gag, trying to writhe out of their reach.

The old man wails pealed off the sterile ceiling. Planting herself in front of him, Lylla picked a comlink off her belt and brought it to her lips. "They have behaved themselves, so far. But when the commander receives my order, they will partake of your daughter in any manner they like. My," her smile grew wider, " 'bonus' to them, for a job well done in retrieving her so quickly."

"Please," sobbed the old man, hanging limply in his bonds, "please don't do this…"

"I won't," Lylla answered simply, raising her brows. She stepped toward him. "If you tell me where that ship went, and who your Rebel contact is. You tell me, and she goes free. It's easy."

He panted hard, his eyes slit. "You malignant bitch."

"Tch," Lylla clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Again, wrong answer." She flicked the comlink on. "Commander—"

"NABOO!" he cried. His face compressed into an anguished grimace. "We decoded the shipping orders, and sent it to Naboo."

"Naboo," she breathed. She chuckled. "Of course. And who got you those codes?" Lylla pressed herself against him. "Who?"

He swallowed hard, and sunk his head. "A free Wookiee named Chewbacca. He was a smuggler who now works with the Rebel Alliance. He has access to many Imperial shipping codes."

"And where is he?"

"I…don't know."

"Really?" she sighed. "She lifted the comlink again. "Commander—"

"I DON'T KNOW!" he screamed. "I don't know where he is! Don't, please DON'T! I DON'T KNOw…" His cracked voice receded into hysterical sobs.

Lylla considered the weeping, broken elder for a moment before switching on the comlink. "Commander, Enforcer Sa'thraxxx here. Return the detainee to her home." She paused, piercing her silver-hued gaze into the old man's crying eyes. "In your own time, of course." She turned and paced away.

"Please, don't let them hurt her," he pleaded.

Sa'thraxxx stopped and explained over her shoulder, "Examples must be made, my misguided, foolish old friend. The galaxy must acknowledge that those who spit in the face of our glorious Emperor will find justice swift and ruthless."

"Justice?" he wept bitterly. "You mean vengeance."

She turned back and sighed, "Whatever."

With a press of one last button on her belt, the old man's heart exploded in his chest as one last vicious current coursed through him. His broken lifeless body slumped on the torture wheel.

Lylla drew a long, shuddering breath. She clenched her sex to keep the wash of arousal from soaking her suit, and her hand unwittingly slid up her waist to grasp her breast. Slowly, she walked to the wall and leaned against it, her head bowed against her arm. A particularly effective torture session always left her feeling like this-- wanting, frustrated, sad, and very, very alone. "Where are you?" she breathed, her lips trembling as a single tear rolled down her alabaster cheek. "Please. Give me some sort of sign..." A sob shocked her throat. "I need you...I need you..."

She jerked up, suddenly aware that she was still being recorded. Hurriedly, she straightened herself, breathed, wiped the smudge of moisture from her eyes. Striding to the door, she palmed the lock-- and found herself face to face with the High Lord Inquisitor Tremayne and his aide standing on the other side.

Lylla cocked an eyebrow. "Did you get all that?"

"It has been recorded and is being sent to Intelligence Director Isaard as we speak, Enforcer Sa'thraxxx," the young aide answered, then cowered slightly at the sharp glance from his older superior.

The display did not escape Lylla's attention. With a smirk and a nod, she chirped, "Good," as she lazily brushed through the two men and made her way down the corridor.

"Enforcer Sa'thraxxx!" Tremayne bellowed after her, "A word with you!"

Lylla never broke her long strides as she turned over her shoulder. "I'm sure we can discuss whatever you wish in my rest chamber, High Lord."

The High Lord turned a deepened purple. "Who exactly does that strumpet think she is?" he bit through his teeth as he burst after her. He, however, kept his anger in check as he followed her, saving it for the privacy of her chambers.

A turn of a corner and a few more steps brought them to Lylla's suite. She palmed the door and, without acknowledging her, threw her lead-weighted gloves at the young human slave girl inside. The girl scrambled to catch them, then lowered her head in reverence to the High Lord Inquisitor and his aide.

Lylla came about the large chair in front of her mirror and dropped herself in it. "And to what to do I owe the pleasure of this personal visit, High Lord?" she crooned as she stretched her long arms over her head.

Tremayne wasted no time with pleasantries. "Who authorized your use of a squad of troopers?" he barked.

Lylla raised an eyebrow at his mirrored reflection. "I needed authorization? I was under the impression that Enforcers are provided complete autonomy."

"Within the confines of interrogation! Bringing in a family member is used ONLY when all other means of interrogation have failed! An old man like that wouldn't have lasted five more timeparts. There was no need to threaten in his daughter!"

Lylla spun the chair round to face him fully, lifting one long leg up to drape over the other. "He confessed, didn't he? We know where the slave ship is, and we know who sent it there." She snapped her fingers hastily at the young slave, who immediately came to her and began gingerly taking out the pins holding Lylla's intricate hairstyle. Lylla rested her head back. "I fail to understand this sudden bout of compassion, High Lord, particularly where the Rebels are concerned."

"Chaos with compassion!" Tremayne countered crustily. "Do you know the COST of authorizing a squad of troops?"

"There's a cost?"

He folded his arms within the sleeves of his sumptuous dark red robe as he took a long, calming breath. "Yes, Sa'thraxxx, there are costs. Overtime, fuel, transmission fees for holomessages, administration fees, and so on. Do you think credits are limitless? Not to mention the public display of those troops dragging the girl from her home--"

She narrowed her eyes. "Meaning?"

"The destruction of Alderaan did not exactly have the effect the Emperor had anticipated." The High Lord explained. "There have been numerous reports of even more insurgencies rising, even here on Coruscant. And now with the obliteration of the Death Star--"

"The destruction of the Death Star has merely tipped the scales, my Lord, not toppled them," Lylla murmured smoothly. A strange smile pulled her lip. "Are you not familiar with the Tarkin Doctrine?"

"Of course," he huffed.

"Then how can you argue my methods? If the only way to govern a principality as vast as an entire galaxy is through FEAR, then we, as His Majesty's Inquisitors, are truly his finest weapons. Which do you believe is more frightening, High Lord-- a battle station that you can plainly see?" She lifted her silver eyes. "Or the eyes watching from the shadows that you can not?" She smiled cruelly. "This is hardly the time to relax our grip, High Lord. If anything, we must tighten our hold even further on the hearts and minds of the populace."

The High Lord glared at Lylla for a brief moment. Then, quite unexpectedly, he chuckled. "You are an ambitious woman, Sa'thraxxx. But you are hardly Grand Moff Tarkin."

Lylla's malicious grin disintegrated, and her serpentine eyes slit. "Not yet." Suddenly, she spun her chair around, using its momentum to backhand her slave full force across the face. "What have I said about PULLING?" she flared.

The girl cried out and dropped the pins and combs she held, bringing shaking hand to her cheek. "Forgive, my Lady," the girl rasped, her eyes cast to the floor. "Your hair just grows so fast...the pins get snarled, it is difficult to remove them."

Lylla glared at her slave briefly before pursing her lips. She was correct, of course. Her first-- and so far, only--coupling with Vader had exposed her to the Dark Side of the Force. Since then, her hair grew at an alarming rate. Every morning, her slave girl would cut forty or more centimeters from her head. By nightfall, it had grown to the small of her back thicker, longer, and more abundant. Some days it would have to be cut twice.

She raised her hand, setting a delicate finger on the girl's cheek. "Just...be...careful," she advised in a throaty murmur, sliding the finger down her throat, letting it brush just slightly over the girl's small breast before dropping it back into her lap. Spinning the chair back round, she leaned her head back. "Continue." The humiliated girl, blushing profusely, picked a clean comb from the dressing table and resumed her work on Lylla's black-streaked scarlet hair.

Sa'thraxxx opened one silver eye, glancing down her nose at Tremayne. "You're still here?" She sighed wearily, waving a lazy hand. "Fine-- from now on, no troops without your expressed authorization, High Lord. Understood." When awaited response did not come immediately, she opened the other eye. "Was there anything else?"

A slow, sour smile of derision cut across Tremayne's sagging face. "By all dimensions of the Force," he chuckled dimly, shaking his head, "what does Lord Vader possibly see in you?"

The slave girl gasped, dropping her second comb on the durasteel floor. Even the silver protocol droid stationed in the suite's corner reacted, raising his metal hands in front of his plastine eyes and turning into the wall. Tremyane's aide rolled his eyes back and seemed to shrink several centimeters down into his robes, as if that could possibly hide him from the repercussions of Tremayne's foolhardiness. But Tremayne held his ground in the thick silence of the room, the smirk still smeared across his face as he awaited this harpy's hysterical reaction…

But even as rage simmered under the delicate ivory of her complexion, Lylla remained as cool and poised as an assassin's dagger…and smiled.

Slowly she rose from her chair, uncoiling to her full stature before—and over—him. Placing her slim hands upon her hips, she leaned in, just brushing the satin of her cheek against his, and her breath rolled gently over his ear as she whispered, "Would you like me to ask him for you when he returns, High Lord Tremayne?"

Tremayne remained still, staring directly ahead, before his harsh chuckling broke the thick silence. "IF he returns, Enforcer Sa'thraxxx." His grin spread even wider as he felt her face change against his cheek. "Three months since the Death Star's demise, and still no word from The Dark Lord. You honestly believe His Majesty's propaganda, that Lord Vader is alive and well and currently hunting those responsible for the Death Star?" He chuckled. "Your girlish trust decries your inexperience, Lady. We who have served the Emperor for significant years know better."

Lylla froze as Tremayne pulled away from her, her eyes cast down as she fought to remain composed. He glanced at the protocol droid in the corner. "I commend Lord Vader on his choice of tutors for you, my dear. Instead of a coarse, uncultured whore, you've become a somewhat more sophisticated one." He gestured to his aide, who was more than happy to follow his direction toward the door. Tremayne remained a brief second longer to glare Lylla down. "You strut your arrogance on borrowed time, Sa'thraxxx," he reminded her lightly before casually striding through the door.

Lylla glared at the floor, her fists curling, her knuckles whitening. "Get out," she whispered.

Her slave maid knit her brow. "My Lady?"

"Get out," Sa'thraxxx repeated in a low growl.

Scared and confused, the slave girl hesitated at first. But when she saw her Lady's chest heave in harsh, violent breaths, she made an attempt toward the door, only to find her mistress was blocking her way.

Lylla spun round, her silver eyes flashing, her lip pulled from her teeth in an animal snarl. "Are you fucking deaf???" Seizing the arms of the heavy chair, she screamed, "I SAID GET OUT!" before hurling it across the room. The girl screamed in kind, throwing her arms over her head and rushing past her mistress out the door. The protocol droid, far slower than his human counterpart, hobbled as fast as he could toward the door, only to be struck several times by bottles and jars his mistress threw at him.

Lylla hurled her arms across her dressing table. Bottles, brushes, pins and small pots flew in all directions, shattering against the walls, spilling on the floor. Cosmetic powder exploded into the air, creating a billowing haze that snowed lightly on her as she slumped to her knees and howled her anguish into the floor.

Tremayne was right, and she knew it. Right about her, and about Vader. "He's dead," she whispered before exploding into tears. Her body racked violently with every word, every sob. "I don't belong here, I'm…I'm not good enough…I try to be like them…but they hate me…I should never have come here, I should have gotten on that supply cruiser…" She wiped her soaked face. "But he…offered this. How could I say no? He was…kind to me. No one has ever been…" She stopped, and her lip trembled. "What did he see in me…?"

Her chest hurt. She sat up slightly, still weeping, and rubbed between her breasts as she attempted to calm herself. The pain, however, increased rather than subsided, becoming sharper, like a burn: She could feel the heat seer through her leather bodice to her palm. Her despair quickly ignited into panic as it grew hotter, singing her skin, and she smelled the tang of flesh burning.

She sprang to her feet, her cries sharp and frantic as she stood before the mirror and ripped at the buckles of her bodice. She tore the bodice wide open, and gasped fiercely as she gawked into the mirror.

The brand between her breasts, the Sithskrit symbol signifying Vader's possession of her, flared a ferocious scarlet, bubbling and seething under her skin. A fine wisp of smoke rose to drift into her nostrils; but when she hesitantly raised her hand and dared touch it, the heat had dissipated, and was cool to the touch. Her breaths were short and shallow as she furiously tried to understand what was happening…and a wave of elation swept over her as new tears squeezed from her eyes.

Vader was alive. And he was here, on Coruscant. He had, quite literally, given her the sign she had asked for.

Her door chimed at that very moment. Caked in powders and perfumes and clutching her bodice closed, Lylla hurried to the door and palmed the panel. On the other side stood High Inquisitor Tremayne flanked by two hulking, black-armored Black Hole Imperial Stormtroopers.

Tremayne's demeanor had taken a turn since his last visit only moments earlier—his jowls seemed to sag even lower, as did his posture, and his eyes were that of a cornered womprat. Lylla watched him struggle to meet her gaze. "It seems," he croaked before clearing his bulbous throat, "that I have underestimated our Lord Vader."

A crooked smile tugged Lylla's full lips. "Yes, it seems you have."

"Enforcer Sa'thraxxx," the Black Hole Commander addressed her, "we have orders to bring you to Lord Vader's fortress."

Lylla exhaled in glee, then frowned slightly as she spun and quickly looked in the mirror. Wet streaks of black kohl and white powder slashed her face, her hair was wild and disheveled, and her leather bodysuit was caked in cosmetics. She looked dreadful.

She turned back over her shoulder, and drew a long, calming breath. "I will need a few moments to prepare myself."

"As you wish, Lady," The Trooper replied.

"Lady," Lylla repeated in an absent whisper. She smiled again. "Yes…a few moments…"

She tore about her suite, from dressing area to fresher and back again, her frenzied movement only interrupted by a few moments of quick decision. Makeup? Not enough time—just wash. Clothing rained all over the suite as Lylla ripped her wardrobe apart. This dress? No, too many laces…No, not this one, too complicated…yes, yes this one! Hair—oh gods, my HAIR…!

The few moments Lylla requested clicked away, and her door finally slid open. Tremayne glanced up from the floor, and raised an eyebrow. She stood in the door, breathless and wild-eyed, and Tremayne couldn't help but be reminded of a thoroughbred equaa rearing against its gate before a race. Her pale oval face was fresh and scrubbed, completely clean of the heavy cosmetics she usually wore. Hastily and loosely tied behind her neck, her black and scarlet hair spilled down her back, with just a few messy tendrils veiling her face. Silver eyes sparked with feral eagerness, lips wet and parted and, if Tremayne didn't think he knew her better, he could almost say that she struck a likeness of unbridled innocence.

She threw a scarlet shimmersilk wrap over her simple clingy black dress. "I'm ready."

"Very good, Lady," the Commander replied, nodding his helm in affirmation as he stepped aside to let her pass. She took a few steps forward, but stopped suddenly, and slowly turned around. The purity that had temporarily graced her features was gone, and the arrogant glint had returned to her silver eyes.

"Would you still like me to relay your question to Lord Vader, High Lord Tremayne?" she crooned with a caustic lilt. Tremayne's answer came in an explosion of red across his face and a fierce shaking of his jowls. Lylla's throaty laughter pealed down the dark corridor; it blended with the cries of the tortured in aberrant harmony, and kept in rhythm with the strike of her heels as she practically sprinted toward the speeder bay.

The Black Hole Commander took a step to go, but stopped when Tremayne caught his arm. "Lord Vader is at his fortress?"

"Yes, High Lord."

"Very good, Commander. You may go." As the two black-clad stormtroopers stepped in unison down the corridor, Tremayne picked a comlink out of his pocket. "Braxone."

"Yes, my Lord," Braxone's light tenor crackled over the com.

"I'm on my way back. And I expect a direct channel to Lord Vader to be open by the time I return…"

Their speeder raced through the day's end sky, skimming the peaks and crests of Coruscant's highest starscrapers. The thoroughfare they traveled was reserved for the Emperor and Lord Vader's use only, so theirs was the only speeder in their part of the atmosphere. The air was so clean, almost fragrant that high above the upper levels.

Her heart felt as though it would burst. He had sent for her! Lylla clutched the seat in front of her as she knelt up. She closed her eyes and smiled, filling her lungs, reveling in the feel of the wind whipping through her hair. To her, nothing else mattered but these next few hours, perhaps even days…? Universe be damned, all of it!

When she finally opened her eyes, she gasped, her eyes growing huge as she gaped at the monstrosity before them. Black obsidian spires stabbed into the indigo twilight skies. The ebon citadel loomed across the Coruscant blue, a terrifying yet magnificent monument of man's fortitude forged with machine's might.

Just like him, she thought.

"Enforcer Sa'thraxxx," the Commander sitting in the front seat addressed her, "I suggest belting yourself in. We will be descending to the docking port in a moment."

Lylla sank back into her seat, and absently clicked her restraint into place. She placed her hand over her heart, and when she felt its wild thump against her palm, a strange turmoil gripped her. Why does my heart beat like this? she thought. He's a man, he's only a man, just like all the others, a means to an end, just like all the others…

But he's not, is he?

Images and feelings swarmed her mind, memories of their night together on the now destroyed Death Star. He had shown her things, things that did not dwell in this mundane physical world, but were no less real. The dark magnificence of fallen angels had touched her, and there were times she still felt the heat of their lips upon her flesh. Then there were the corporeal changes; the blanching of her eyes from black to silver, the mad growth of her scarlet hair, the black streaks of the Dark Side striping through it, setting its mark on her.

And the nights…the long, unbearable nights she would lie in her sumptuous—and empty—bed, staring at the ceiling for hours. She bitterly recalled how, as she lay there, she would slide her hand down her body to her mound, and manipulate herself to the brink of ecstasy as she cried for his return.

The speeder descended toward the gaping maw of the fortress's speeder port, and Lylla's eyes slit. Quiet anger seeped over her as she thought silently,

What have you done to me?

"Of course, it pains me to bring you this news, My Lord Vader." Tremayne's holographic jowls sank with conjured remorse. "But I was given little choice, I fear."

"I see." Vader paused. Tremayne opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off. "What is her record so far?"

"Er, well," Tremayne began, somewhat reluctantly, "We have been breaking her in on somewhat easier subjects—the elderly, younger civilians—"

"And?" Vader asked impatiently.

Tremayne took a breath before admitting, "Full confessions from each subject. And all information checked out."

"In what time?"

"All confessed in less than a standard day."

"So," the Dark Lord rumbled evenly, "You felt it necessary to intrude upon my solitude to inform me that, much to your displeasure, my newest appointee to the Imperial Inquest Corps is doing her job well."

Tremayne stopped, and swallowed. "Force, no, my Lord! That's not what—"

"Do not take the Force's name in vain in my presence, if you please," Vader interjected with the mildest touch of threat.

Tremayne's earlier assurance was now completely shattered. He lowered his eyes. "Forgive me, Lord Vader. It was not my intention to question or insult you. I merely thought you should be informed of Enforcer Sathraxxx's behavior."

"And that is?" he asked flatly.

Vader closely watched the High Lord Inquisitor. Tremayne seemed to bristle ever so slightly to the Dark Lord's calm and even tone, but he certainly became more daring as he exclaimed, "The woman is completely out of control! She is arrogant and willful; she completely lacks any respect for her superiors—including me! Her behavior and dress are…inappropriate at best. She refuses to wear the standard Inquisition robes! Comes traipsing in wearing some—"

"Enforcer Sa'thraxxx's choice of wardrobe was a personal directive from myself," Vader informed him. He continued as Tremayne gawked. "Her physical attractiveness complements her natural talents. Surely that has been proven?"

"That I cannot deny, my Lord," Tremayne acknowledged grudgingly. "However, that isn't the end of it. She beats her slave in public view—a most distasteful practice, one must admit. And then her complete lack of discretion regarding the nature of her relationship with you—"

"And what exactly IS the nature of her relationship with me, High Lord?"

The unmistakable malice that reverberated through Vader's magnificent bass obviously had the desired effect. Tremayne's mouth blubbered silently as he struggled to find a suitable answer. "I'm sure," he finally sputtered, "I do not know, Lord Vader, nor care to."

"I thought as much." He sat up a bit straighter, leaning toward Tremayne's image. "Personality conflicts within the Corps do not concern me, Tremayne. Since Enforcer Sa'thraxxx appears to be performing her duties, I will not tolerate any more trivial reports regarding her manners or methods. Understood?"

"Clearly, my Lord Vader."

"However, as far as her behavior is concerned," Vader added, his tone softer but no less menacing as he curled his fist, "It will be dealt with accordingly."

Tremayne exhaled sharply as he bowed low. "I humbly thank you, Lord Vader."

Without acknowledging Tremayne any further, Vader switched the hologram off. As the projector lifted toward the ceiling, he collapsed back into his med-bed. He attempted deep breaths, but again, could not override the programmed rhythm of his respirator.

"Allow me, my Lord," his Two-One-Bee unit offered, extending one of its metal appendages and readjusting the panel on Vader's breastplate. The adjustment filled his mask with a gust of precious oxygen, and he inhaled deeply. With his remaining three appendages, Two-One-Bee delicately seared the last cable housing on Vader's cybernetic wrist closed. "Finished, my Lord. I have mended all cybernetic pathways."

Vader raised his hands to his mask, opening and closing them, testing the mends. "How long before I can shed my armor?" he asked.

"A few more minutes, my Lord. Pressure and oxygen levels in your chambers at eighty-five percent." The medical droid glanced at the monitor. "Heart rate has returned to standard beat. Organic to synthetic blood ratio has balanced. Brain scan shows no permanent damage. You should take sustenance though."

Insertion of his feeding tube was not particularly inviting. "Not now."

"Very well, my Lord." A soft alarm sounded from Vader's desk. "It seems the Commander has returned with Enforcer Sa'thraxxx."

"Bring her to my chambers," Vader instructed softly.

With a slight nod of its head, the Two-One-Bee unit backed up, turned, and glided across the onyx floor out the chamber doors. Vader lay on his med-bed. He stared at the ceiling as he waited for the chime signifying his chamber's oxygen levels were sufficient, and sighed.

Disciplined by his Master. Forced to correct his mistress. Yes, this homecoming was turning out exactly as he had expected.

It didn't surprise Lylla that the palace was massive. What did surprise her was its lack of…well, anything. No furniture, no servants, no art, nothing that would suggest Vader's obviously vast wealth, save for the place itself. In fact, there were no living, organic beings to be found anywhere. Just various makes of droids that would appear from the perpetual gloom of the place, rolling or stepping out from behind the staggering ebon pillars that held the lofted ceilings in place. She remembered a saying she had heard once that said, "A man's home is the reflection of his soul." And here it was, laid before her; so splendid and imposing, and yet so dark, so cold, so empty.

"I know the feeling," she murmured.

"Pardon, Madam?"

Her attention dropped from the sprawling ceilings to the protocol droid in front of her. "What?"

It tilted its head. "Did you say something to me, madam?"

"No," Lylla snapped irritably. Her musing was quickly replaced by impatience. "How much further must we walk?"

"Not long, Madam. Here." The droid gestured to the open lift doors before them. Lylla brushed past the droid. But the droid stayed behind.

She lifted an eyebrow. "You're not coming?"

"No, Madam. Only Lord Vader's medical droids are allowed on his private floor. No one has ever been granted access…except you."

A self-satisfied smirk played across her features. "As it should be," she growled softly as the lift doors slid closed.

When the lift stopped, the doors opened to reveal yet another grand corridor. The hall had to have been a half-kilometer long. The Coruscant twilight ebbed with every step she took, the last light of day leaching through the majestic cathedral windows that lined the vast passage.

She tried to walk the extensive corridor with patience and measured grace but, as it had been since the very moment she had learned of his return, her desire overcame her reason. Before Lylla even knew it she was running down the black hall. The wind she created caught her scarlet wrap, lifting it up and off her shoulders. She stopped only once, hopping on one leg, then the next as she pulled off the high-heeled boots that impeded her before resuming her sprint. The enormous doors that awaited her swung open, and Lylla wasted no time running through them.

She suddenly stopped, however, when she realized she couldn't see a thing. And the air…heavy, hot, almost too dense to breathe. With the air so thick with oxygen, her head began to spin, but nevertheless she tried to force her eyes to adjust to the darkness surrounding her. She looked above her to the only source of any light, the ceiling, which hosted a steel-strutted skylight that shown only the faintest glow from the city-planet below. She lowered her eyes, still struggling to see, when a form finally took shape. The dim light glinted off the sheen of the dome-shaped helmet, spilling over onto what appeared to be wide shoulders draped in a black cloak…

"Vader," she purred. She took careful steps toward the figure, careful to avoid any obstacles, before lunging forward and throwing her arms around the form—only to have it topple in her grasp. She screamed when the helmet clanged across the hard marble floor, and she gasped as she looked down at the heavy black cloak that pooled at her feet.

"Don't move."

Lylla shrieked again, nearly jumping out of her skin. Her eyes darted wildly through the darkness. "My lord—"

"And don't speak." This voice was different than the magnificent bass that she and the rest of the galaxy was used to; it was slightly higher in pitch, and hoarse, but yet still carried the melodious cadence that was unmistakably Vader. With the thick air, his helmet lying on the floor, and his voice unaltered, Lylla assumed the Dark Lord was completely unarmored.

A pause. "Move back into the light. I want to look on you."

The desire that had flustered her only moments before was slowly giving way to dread. Apprehensive, she stepped into the diffused circle of the skylight. Her lip trembled, but she raised her chin into the light to allow better viewing.

Many long, tense moments passed before the Dark Lord spoke again. "You are too thin, Sa'thraxxx," the voice rumbled. It came from all around her, as though he was circling her, taking her in. She could hear the faintest sounds come from the dark, the barely audible whirs of robotic gears, a soft clink every time he took a step, but could still see nothing. "One would think that with your newfound fortune, a decent meal would have made its way to your lips. You are no longer a slave." A pause. "Or are you?"

Something shot from the dark and seized her by the throat. Before she could scream, she was hoisted from the floor. Lylla thrashed and kicked and clawed at the clamp around her throat…but her fingers suddenly stilled when she realized it wasn't a clamp at all. It was a hand hewn of wire and metal.

Another metal hand plunged down the neckline of her dress and groped around her breast. But it was gone as quickly, and as it rose before her eyes, a slim joint of glimmerspice was pinched between metal digits. "A slave to this?"

Her voice came out a strangled squeak. "Vader—"

"YOU ARE NOT FIT TO UTTER MY NAME!" Vader roared. Instantly, he quieted to a savage hiss. "High Lord Inquisitor Tremayne has just informed me of your conduct of recent months, Sa'thraxxx."

Lylla clenched her eyes and winced, despite her immediate peril. _Bastard son of a galley whore,_ she thought dourly.

His fingers tightened around her throat, cutting her air even more. He bit out every word. "I lifted you from bondage, I bestowed you with wealth, I handed you the power of fear and privilege, and how do you repay me? With arrogance, with indiscretion, with _ADDICTION!_" He crushed the joint between his metal fingers, letting it pepper to the floor. "I will NOT be humiliated by the likes of YOU! Give me one sound reason why I should not kill you as I stand!"

Lylla's body went limp within his grip. Her lord's favor was slipping away, along with her consciousness, and she would rather be dead than be cast off. Even as her complexion began to blue, she rasped dejectedly, "I can't."

Vader held her there a moment more, glaring at her from the shadows. He opened himself to her emotions. He expected the usual—fear, terror, desperation. But instead, he felt… heartbreak. Disgrace that she had displeased him. And complete acceptance of her fate, at his hands. He watched a single tear catch the minimal light and sparkle as it slid down her alabaster cheek.

A grimace smeared his scarred lip. The metal hand abruptly snapped open. Lylla dropped to the floor, collapsing to her hands and knees, sucking hoarse breaths into her starved lungs. Vader turned back into the darkness. "Perhaps I was mistaken about you," he growled. "Perhaps you are not worthy of my favor."

Lylla's desperate breaths suddenly slowed, and Vader immediately felt her desolation turn into quiet anger. Slowly, she raised her head and glared into the darkness. "Ah," she growled back, her lip pulling from her teeth, "but I was worthy enough to _fuck,_ wasn't I…_Vader_?" She literally spit his name through her teeth.

"You dare take that tone with me, girl!"

"Yes, I dare!" Lylla shot back, narrowing her eyes into silver slits. "When you threaten me without hearing me out, I dare! When you disappear for months and don't even tell me where you are—"

"I was stranded on Yavin 3!" he bellowed furiously. "Fighting my way through jungle and beasts for weeks on end! My ship was destroyed; I had no transmitter, no nourishment, nothing! So forgive me, Lady," he hissed, "if I couldn't return quickly enough to coddle you!"

"YOU LEFT ME HERE!" she screamed. She beat her fists against the hard floor. "You told me it would only be a few days, after you had defeated the Rebels! You left me here, alone, at the mercy of those Imperial skiv-wolves! Tremayne, Isaard, all of them, calling me _whore, _laughing at me…" A heavy sob wracked her thin body. "I didn't know what to do, I didn't know how to act! So yes, I did imply that we were lovers—simply to frighten them, to make them…just leave me alone!" She sat back on her feet and pressed her palms against her soaking eyes. "I…wanted…to be strong, feared …to be like…you."

"Is that how you think I behave?" Vader asked. "Like a ranting, insufferable child?"

Lylla let out a frustrated shriek and hit the floor again. "Show yourself, damn it! Why do you constantly hide from me? First you blind me, and now you lurk in the dark! If you are going to kill me, then _face _me! Like a MAN!"

A heavy metallic THUNK came towards her, then another. Before she could react, the metal hands had clamped her by the shoulders and jerked her off the floor. She opened her mouth to scream, but then stopped. She gaped at his face, now just a hair's breath before her. Pale, scarred skin stretched over chiseled cheekbones. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a livid snarl. And his eyes burned a seething yellow sparked with scarlet. "Is this what you want?" he hissed breathlessly. "Is _this _what you wanted to see?"

"Yes, damn you!"

His hand was suddenly in her hair, brutally twisting it in his fingers, and he jerked her head back as he roared, "Foolish, infuriating girl! I could burst your heart with a mere thought—"

"THEN DO IT!" she screamed. Vader stopped and, as he held her in his grip, watched her fight the tears back into her eyes. She never averted her glare. "If I am nothing to you, if I have lost your favor forever, then I'd rather be dead." She clenched her eyes shut. "I hate you. I hate that you've made me so weak! I hate you!"

Vader exhaled sharply, and before either he or Lylla realized it, he was crushing her mouth in a savage kiss. Lylla stiffened at first in surprise, but only for the briefest moment. The hesitancy and uncertainty apparent in their first encounter was gone, replaced by the raw fury and passion that she knew him capable of and had so craved these last few months. She fervently kissed him back, plundering his tongue with her own. When his cybernetic hands slid down to grasp her buttocks, she instinctively took the cue and clamped her long legs around his hips while snaking her arms around his neck. Through her dress, she could feel that he was naked—and hard for her.

Vader abruptly broke off the kiss, but still held her pinned against him. They panted against each other, staring into the other's eyes. His digits slid into her wild hair again and pulled her head back, albeit far more gently this time, and his teeth grazed the satin column of her throat. Lylla gasped a sultry laugh, and ground her pubis against his hardness. "Am I forgiven?" she whispered huskily.

Vader pulled back to meet her eyes, and raised a hairless eyebrow. "Not quite." He held her in his glare. "You are reckless, Sa'thraxxx—"

"Lylla," she corrected. "Call me Lylla, damn it."

The yellow glow sparked for a split second, but then subsided. Vader stared at her intensely, and Lylla thought she saw… bemusement, perhaps? He took a deep, ragged breath into his scarred lungs before rumbling, "Why do you not fear me, Lylla?"

"Why do you _want_ me, Vader?" When he didn't respond, she answered for him. "Is it because I don't fear you?" She brushed her lips against his, and caressed his breath with hers. "Because I _understand _you?"

Yes, that was it. She did understand. Vader looked into her very essence, and found all his rage, lust, despair, and emptiness reflected back at him. But, she was not truly his. Nothing was truly his.

He slowly lowered her until her feet touched the floor, and unhooked her arms from his neck. Before Lylla had the chance to look at the rest of his body, he had already slipped back into the dark. _How does he move that fast?_ she thought, perturbed. She was about to vent her frustration again when she heard him state grimly, "The Emperor knows of you."

She cocked an eyebrow. "And?"

"Now is not the time to play the innocent, Lylla."

Her smirk melted away. "Is that bad?"

"It is…unfortunate." A pause. "He wants to meet you."

"What?" she gasped. "The _Emperor?"_

"It is not the honor you may perceive it to be. He wants to study you, twist you, find ways to use you against me."

"That will never happen—"

"Don't be too certain," he replied dourly.

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "But I thought…you were his heir, his second—"

"I am…" he began, but then stopped. And sighed. "He is my Master. I must obey him in all things."

Lylla tried to determine what he was saying, and slit her eyes. "There's something you're not telling me."

"For being Force-blind, you are impressively observant, Lylla."

She laughed, softly yet bitterly. "When you have been with as many men as I have, you learn to read them like holonovels." Her expression became serious. "Tell me."

She heard him move in the darkness, as though in a thoughtful pace. "He wants to watch us… couple."

"What?" she grunted.

"He wants to watch us, to be certain that you are 'worthy' of my favor." He turned back toward Lylla standing in the dim circle of light.

She stood still and silent with her mouth agape and her expression blank. But then, quite suddenly, she began to laugh. A soft giggle at first, it soon escalated to hearty, almost maniacal guffaws that pealed off every surface of the chamber.

Vader ire immediately surfaced. "You find this amusing?"

"I…I find it…" she gasped between cackles, "Very, very funny!" This sent her into another round of inappropriate gleeful laughter.

He took an angry step toward her. "I command you to tell me what you find so humorous!"

Lylla straightened herself up, breathing deeply to regain her control. "Ah, men! Whether you are slave or king, you all want the same thing! You are such simple creatures."

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"The Emperor is nothing more than a horny old stone-goat is what I mean!" she exclaimed. Another fit threatened to surface, but she managed to force it down. "He doesn't care that I'm worthy of you—he wants a show! Why, the old, wrinkled voyeur! Who knew he had it in him?"

_Reckless_, Vader mused, even as he felt his groin tighten. _Fearless_. "I would watch your words carefully, Sa'thraxxx."

Lylla was beginning to understand that Vader used her Sith name whenever he became annoyed with her. She stopped her mirth. "Is he watching us now?"

"No, not as of yet. I have shielded him for the moment."

She turned over her shoulder. "Can he perform?"

Vader furrowed his brow, as the question had never occurred to him before. "I doubt it." She began to laugh again, but softly this time, and her glittering eyes invited him to share in the joke. His lip curled into a smile, and a deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. With her reaction, the humiliation he had felt began to wane. "Then this does not alarm you?"

"Trust me," she said, running a slim hand through her unruly mane, "this wouldn't be the first time I've performed for unseen eyes." She suddenly became quiet. She turned away and took a few steps, her head bent as if in deep thought. Finally, she turned over her shoulder. "Well then," she purred, as that sultry smile once again graced her lips, "shall we give him what he wants?" Her hands floated to her shoulders, where she pinched the ties holding her dress and pulled them loose. "Shall we show him what he'll NEVER have?"

The form-fitting dress slid languorously down her body to pool around her ankles. She slid her fingers through her tresses and pulled them up, allowing Vader's eyes to rake over her nakedness. Standing in the dim light, her body seemed to have been carved from ivory. It bathed her, shadowing the cut of her slim muscles, illuminating the rise of her shoulders and firm buttocks, down the subtle curve of her long, slender legs.

And then the memories came, the forbidden memories, the soft voice, and the face that still haunted him took form behind his eyes. Soft, somewhat round, with cheeks kissed by the bright Naboo sun, long chocolate ringlets that spilled over her shoulders, and large, brown eyes shot red with weeping…

Vader threw up a cerebral wall, casting the image out and opened his eyes to the present, to the face slyly turned over her shoulder. Long, angular, with cheekbones sharp; silver serpentine eyes slit with desire, a wild mane of red and black hair that snaked about her head and shoulders, and a wide, ravenous mouth that looked as though it could devour a man's very soul.

Anakin, I don't even know you anymore… 

But Lylla knew him.

You are going down a path I cannot follow… 

Lylla would not only follow him, she would bolt down that path and gorge upon everything the Dark Side could offer her.

In every possible way, they were as different as night and day, light and dark. Padme, his angel bride. Lylla, his demon whore.

"Turn around," he demanded in a soft growl.

"Mmm mmm mmm," she hummed, shaking her head and wagging her finger over her shoulder. "You come here, into the light. If you want to see me, I should see you as well." She smirked. "It's only fair."

Was she giving HIMorders? Vader felt his ire well up and his patience ebb, until the realization occurred to him. Oh, this was banter, wasn't it? A skilled seductress, she was playing with him, teasing him. Yes, men and women did this, he recalled. _Force, it has been so long…so very long…_

Her smile waned a bit, and her glittering eyes became soft and understanding. "I won't be afraid. I swear upon my life, lover, I won't be afraid. Please…let me see you."

She spoke the truth. He could feel it. Hesitantly, he stepped into the circle of diffused light. And held his breath within his damaged lungs.

Lylla gasped, and her mouth fell open, but Vader sensed that this reaction was not that of horror, but of astonishment. She turned to fully face him, and took him in. He was pale, yes, hairless and significantly scarred, but that didn't hide the steel cuts of his abdomen and chest. An intricate set of bio-cybernetic controls and tubing was embedded over his heart, a mechanism that she surmised to be his pacemaker, and the small tube of a self-contained free-breather was inserted into his nostrils. Her eyes wandered over his appendages. They were fashioned to mimic the shape and function of human limbs with ligaments and joints—but instead of bone and muscle, they were a complex system of plasteel and cable woven over metal rods. However, they were in perfect proportion to his organic parts, and the lines of his body flowed freely over flesh to machine. And she smiled when she glanced at his hardness, and for just a moment she thought, despite the murky light, she saw him flush.

They stood like that, across from each other, for what seemed like a quiet eternity. Vader pulled himself to his fullest, imposing height. "So," he finally rasped, "do you still think of me as a man?"

The play of light and shadow slid across Lylla's breasts and belly as she slowly approached him. She stopped just a hair's breath from him, and he could feel the heat of her body, and smell the musk of her arousal. "No," she whispered, snaring his eyes within hers. "I think you better than a mere man. I think you are a GOD." And in one fluid motion, she dropped to her knees, grasped his member with both hands, and swallowed him whole.

Vader sucked a ragged breath into his lungs as he threw back his head. In all of his experiences in both of his lives, no one had ever performed this for him. Her mouth, warm and wet, sent bursts of sensation throughout his organic body. Her tongue played his shaft like an instrument, sliding along the underside, swirling around the head. Her hands were gentle yet firm as she established a slow pulse of sucking and sensual manipulation. His hand came down to caress her head, but he ensnared his metal fingers into her hair after she performed a particularly arousing oral maneuver.

But then…he was there. The Emperor, slinking into the undercurrents of his mind, and he could literally feel that insipid, yellowed grin ooze through his consciousness. Lylla immediately stopped when she felt him suddenly soften, and looked up. "He's here, isn't he?" she asked softly.

Such perception. Vader slid his hand from her hair to cup her face. "Yes."

She nuzzled the hand with her cheek, still gazing up at him. "Remember," she purred, "what he'll NEVER have." She again took him into her mouth, looking up into his eyes as she moved her lips up and down.

But quite unexpectedly, Vader seized her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. He then gripped her wrists and thrust them up over her head. Lylla's discarded dress suddenly sailed through the air at them. She heard the fabric tear as the sleeves spun themselves around her arms. The skirt shot to the skylight, shredding into streamers that tied themselves to the steel struts. Lylla found herself bound and hanging, her toes barely touching the floor. Aghast, she threw a shocked look at her lord. And for the first time, she saw his face stretch into a full smile.

"No, Lylla," he growled quietly, his eyes glowing that fiery scarlet-yellow, his breath hot on her lips. "You are not in control this time. This time, I am the _Master_."

Her breaths came quick and deep as her arousal quickened. "Yes, Vader."

He viciously gripped her hair and jerked her head back. "Your familiarity is inappropriate, Sa'thraxxx. Yes, _whom_?"

"Yes, my lord!" she cried.

He smiled again. "Better." So, she found pleasure playing the victim as well as the torturer. He had surmised so much. One's average inquisitor often did.

He scraped his teeth against her throat, and reveled in her gasp. Releasing her hair, his mouth moved down over her shoulders, to her breasts, licking and nipping her silken flesh as though he were a man starving. He pinned her to his chest and deeply inhaled her fragrance, even as his metal digits dug into her flesh. But the pain hardly dissuaded Lylla—indeed, the hurt only fed her growing need. She arched into him as he feasted on her body, and threw her head back when he grazed down below her navel. Without hesitation or care, Vader flung Lylla's legs over his shoulders, clamped his metal hands around her thighs, and brutally thrust his tongue into her mound

Lylla shrieked and ground her sex into his mouth. His tongue drummed a primal beat against her clit, sending shock waves of pleasure through her. Her hips responded in kind, keeping the rhythm of his tongue and, before she knew it, a fluent string of Huttese profanity poured from her in guttural grunts.

Vader was momentarily distracted. _Multi-lingual_, he mused as he devoured her. _Impressive_.

_Yes, quite, _came the withered, sickly voice inside his head. _And such abandon, my boy._

Vader's gut wrenched. For just the briefest, blissful moment, he had forgotten that Sidious was watching—and experiencing—everything he was. Rage began to roil within him, and he stopped.

Lylla's moaning stopped as well and, panting furiously, she looked down. "Why… what—"

Vader rose to his feet, and tangled his hand into her hair once again, bringing her lips to his. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, intent on making her taste her own juices, and bit her lower lip. She groaned into his mouth, still writhing against him. He broke off the kiss, sliding a finger between the lips of her soaking slit. "Do you wish me to bring you release, Lylla?"

The coolness of his digit inside her warm slickness sent shivers through her. "Oh, yes," she gasped.

He thrust another finger into her. "Beg me."

"Please," she cried, her hips pumping furiously. "Gods, please, my lord—"

Just as quickly as he had thrust them in her, Vader pulled his fingers out and stepped away. "In time." Lylla hung taut in her bonds, whimpering, her eyes beseeching and baffled as she panted uncontrollably. He began to circle her. "You will do something for me first. Then I will bring you the release, the pleasure you so crave."

"Anything," she moaned, still undulating in her bonds. "I'll do anything for you, my lord."

He came back around her, and placed his hands on either side of her face, pulling her forward. He touched her forehead with his and murmured, "Show me."

"Wh…what?" she stammered, confused.

"Open yourself to me," he intoned softly, brushing her lips ever so lightly with his own, "as you did on the Death Star. Let me in, and show me your life. ALL of it."

He felt her lip quiver, and she actually tried to break from his grip. "No."

He tightened his hold, refusing to release her. "You deny me?" he asked, more incredulous than angry.

"Yes…no…I mean…" She began to tremble, and Vader saw the beginning of tears in her eyes. "Won't HE see as well?"

"Yes. It doesn't matter, Sa'thraxxx. I'm sure he's already delved into your past. He knows who and what you are."

"Then why?"

"Because," he whispered, his golden eyes boring into her silver, "I wish it."

"Please…my lord…don't make me do this."

He ran a thumb under her eye, and caught a tear. "Why not?"

"I'm… ashamed." She cast her eyes down. "I don't want you to see…"

Vader was almost taken aback. He knew Lylla was a volatile, unpredictable woman, but he never guessed she could host such…vulnerability. "We have far more in common than you may believe," he soothed. "Look at me." She did, and saw that his eyes had turned from fierce yellow back into the crystalline blue she had remembered. Even as he gripped her hair, he gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "Do you not trust me?"

Lylla sighed, and nuzzled his hand. "With my life."

"Then…" He leaned in, and threaded his fingers into her hair, holding her still in his grasp. "Show me."

After a moment's uncertainly, Lylla conceded. She closed her eyes, and cleared her mind. She felt him slip into her thoughts, a mist that wrapped itself around her soul. Within her mind, she looked up to the sky, and again she saw the black heavens streak brilliant with flashes of scarlet lightning. But the dark angels did not come to her this time, but merely settled in the distance, upon ebon peaks afar…

She looked down…to experience her first day as a pleasure slave all over again.

As did Vader…

"_Sold!"_

_Fellenet was a dank, wet world. The merciless rain pounded the deck of the rickety platform, soaking the long scarlet hair of the nude woman-child standing in the center. About a score of males, human and non alike, gathered about the stage. The girl shivered, crossing her arms over her bare body, as the groans and curses of those who lost the auction spread throughout the crowd. Judging from the tender buds of her breasts and the faint scarlet hairs that grew from her young womanhood, Vader presumed that she was no more than twelve standard years._

_The voices of the auctioneer of the lucky winner rose above the pounding rain…_

"_She had better be what you promise. Untouched."_

"_I would cheat such an upstanding peer of the territory such as you, Magistrate? Besides, I have the word of her father that she remains pure, despite her brothers' attempts…"_

_The men laughed a bit. Vader looked to the young Lylla again. He was unable to decipher her tears from the rain on her face, although he could clearly feel the terror and despair roil through her soul…_

The scene suddenly shifted, to a dark corridor leading to large chamber doors. From beyond the doors came the cries and sobs of the young, scarlet-haired girl as her innocence was ripped from her…

"Did you understand what he was doing to you?"

"Yes, I understood."

"It hurt?"

"Yes."

His metal hand gently cupped her breast. "You were afraid?"

"At first. But then…I began to realize…that I had…some power…"

Another shift, four years later. The girl was truly no longer a girl. Still young, yes, but taller, her breasts now filling her scant bra, her hips graced by a beaded dance belt, her buttocks fuller and rounder as she was on her knees, finishing her task on the house guard.

_A grunt, a thrust, a wipe across her lips, and the sound of pants fasteners. "You have half a standard hour, Lylla."_

_She rose to her feet. "Damn you, Grees. After everything I've done for you—"_

"_You know what'll happen to me, to both of us, if the Magistrate finds out? I'm being generous, Lylla." He opened the door. _

Vader watched her enter the office, and take a seat behind a desk, and press a button on the holocomputer. A wizened old female face appeared in the air, wearing a soft, warm smile. "Welcome, youngling, to your sixth lesson in reading Basic…"

"You taught yourself to read," he observed.

"I taught myself many things," she replied seriously.

"And you continued your education, in the same manner, aboard the Death Star."

She gasped. "You knew about that?"

"I had been watching you for some time, Lylla. As you had been watching me. But we digress…"

They were in a smoky, dank room. Around a table sat several beings, sabaac cards and credits scattered on the table top, with only two men holding cards—her Master, and an extremely well dressed man. Jewels donned his fingers and throat, and his clothes were made from very expensive fabric.

"Malifino," she spat.

"A new Master?" Vader inquired, his lips brushing against her neck as he stood behind her.

"The scum on the swamp of the universe," she clarified, her voice seething with hatred. She leaned back against him. "As you can guess, the Magistrate lost."

"And you were the prize." For a split second, he touched the Emperor's psychic tendril, and smiled inwardly. Sidious was engrossed in the vision, which was exactly what Vader had hoped for. With the Emperor distracted, he felt free enough to run his fingers through Lylla's hair as his other hand caressed her belly. But he felt her stiffen, and a wave of apprehension broke over her essence. "What is it?"

Her breathing quickened. "I don't want you to see this."

The metal hand settled around her throat, but it did not close. "I will see it. You will refuse me nothing, Sa'thraxxx." The hand slid from her throat and joined the other in fondling her breasts. "Nothing." Lylla sighed—whether from pleasure or defeat, even she wasn't entirely certain. Supported by her restraints, she fell back against the Dark Lord and closed her eyes, reluctantly allowing him again to watch her past…

Her new master's home was somewhat more opulent than her last. Her clothing, while still titillating, was sewn of finer fabric and custom made, fitting her better than the cheap dancing costumes her former master furnished. There were more females in his harem, numbering in the double digits. And the food was much better. Lylla's youth, her height, her scarlet hair and her overall brazen sexuality quickly made her a favorite of towering Baron Malifino, a regional shipping tycoon.

_That was not a good thing, for Malifino was a sexual sadist. The only way he could get aroused was to inflict as much physical pain and terror onto his bed-wench as she could take without dying or passing out. And Lylla had, unfortunately, a high pain tolerance that coincided with her insubordinate ways._

_Over the next few years, Lylla tolerated more beatings than any of the other girls. If she fought Malifino back, it only aroused him more. If she didn't fight him, he beat her senseless and bloody, sometimes before he raped her, sometimes after. Trip after trip to the infirmary, session after session with the surgeon and the bone-knitters and the bacta tanks. Every time they healed her up, she would return just days later with cracked ribs or a broken jaw or a fractured shoulder…_

Lylla began to shake against Vader. Vader, in turn, could hear the Emperor's maniacal cackling off in the distance of the Dark Side. He knew he couldn't shield Lylla's memories from Sidious, but he could strengthen her, soothe her, bring her through it.

"Did you escape him?" he breathed into her ear.

She hesitated before answering breathlessly, "In a matter of speaking."

"Show me."

_She was in another room, a library of sorts. Again, she had performed sexually for one of Malifino's aides for access to the library key. Her fingers flurried across the lit board of the holoputer, until the information she wanted appeared before her. Vader read the words on the projected screen:_

_Poisons Undetected In the Body After Death._

_The images came fast and furious, as did Lylla's execution of her plan. So many favors to perform, timing to get just perfect, the exhausting study of mixtures and formulas beyond her comprehension, but she persevered. _

_And then the night came, when she came to his chambers, as she had many times before. A blow to her cheek came immediately upon entry, but she took it without screaming or fear. Things were different this time, for the Baron hadn't noticed the syringe tucked in Lylla's hand, the syringe she had stolen during her last trip to the infirmary…_

_She was quick, and lethal. Her arm swung, and the needle plunged directly into Malifino's throat. Vader watched her snarl of sheer vengeance as she pushed the plunger down, watching the green ooze drain from the tube, watching Malifino's dumbfounded face as it turned pasty, then blue. He watched the brute fall to his knees, reaching for Lylla, pleading with her. And he watched Lylla answer his pleas with a kick to his face and a string of low Correllian curses to not only him, but to his entire, worthless line. She beat him with her fist, screaming, crying, exacting her revenge on him, venting her rage to the universe itself…_

Vader dropped his hands, and came around to face her. Lylla hung from her restraints, her head bowed, her breaths fast and hoarse. He touched her chin, and gently lifted her eyes to face him. Her expression was blank, exhausted, but her eyes glittered with tears. "You killed your Master," he murmured.

Her lip quivered. "I had to."

"Were you not afraid?"

"No," she answered firmly. "I knew that I could be put to death, but I didn't care. I could die happy knowing he was roasting in the dimensional hells. And I wouldn't die by his miserable hand."

"You…killed your Master…" Vader repeated absently, as though arrested by the thought, and Lylla saw the yellow spark just briefly in his eyes. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. "What happened after that?"

She sighed. "The constabulary arrived. Everyone knew I had killed him, but…no one turned me in. Even the estate doctor claimed it a heart attack." She looked into his eyes. "No one mourned him." A pause. "Do you want to see more? Most of it is very much the same."

"Just tell me."

"I was traded from owner to owner, mostly to pay for gambling debts. Some were kind, some were not, but all were easily manipulated, and I was always the favorite." The sultry smiled returned briefly. "My last master was indicted for tax evasion. The Empire seized the entire harem as partial payment. I serviced several ships in the fleet until I was transferred to the Death Star." They remained silent for a moment before Lylla stated abruptly, "I want to show you one more thing."

Vader nodded, and leaned into her again, cupping her face. She closed her eyes again and let him in…

_Her jaw dropped as she gawked at the monstrous sphere that rose within the viewport. Although it was named 'Death Star', the whole construction seemed alive somehow. It rotated slowly, majestically. Ships of all sizes and makes whirred around the thing, and the light of thousands of viewports blinked from the surface._

_She smiled proudly. This was it, the end of her journey, the ticket out of this life. The last five years had brought at least some prosperity; Imperial officers had proven not only to be more dignified and less brutal, but generous to boot. And now, she would be a part of the Empire's greatest triumph, servicing its finest, best-paid personnel. She clutched the purse of credits she had hidden in her bra. It was only a matter of time before she could buy herself out._

_Final approach, and landing. Lylla swallowed hard—she was not well versed in space travel, and it always made her a bit motion sick. The whimpers and tense, squeaky whispers of the other pleasure slaves aboard were not helping. She turned and barked, "Keep it down, you pathetic little brats! You don't know how lucky you are!" The girls immediately fell silent, as the Amazonian redhead already intimidated them._

_She led the other girls down the ramp, and reveled in the immediate impact she had on the officers in the bay. She purposely dropped her cowl over her shoulders, giving the officers a glimpse of creamy cleavage bound in her tight-fitting corset. A petty officer began a long drone regarding procedures and limits and what was expected of the girls and how fortunate they were and blah, blah blah. Lylla sighed, her attention drifting to the sheer enormity of the bay, the soaring ceilings, the stories of catwalks that lined the bulkhead…until her eyes held, and her breath caught in her throat._

_She watched him tread heavily along the catwalk, flanked by several officers who scrambled to keep up. A black tower of leather and flowing robes, the hangar lights glinted off his polished helm. His ebon cape caught the breeze he created with his stride and sheer size. The mask that covered his face was that of a gargoyle, yet his walk was that of a sovereign. His arms looked as though they could split a Rancor's skull against the span of his broad chest, his legs as though they could crush whole planets under his boot. And she could hear his…breathing. It echoed through the bay, a low, hypnotic sound that at once startled her and yet soothed her._

_Every officer and stormtrooper stopped what he was doing for the briefest of moments. Some dared to glance at the soaring behemoth, some didn't. But there was no mistaking the force of awe and fear that broke over the assembly, and she heard a name barely whispered amongst them…_

_Darth Vader. _

_Lylla stood frozen in her tracks, just as the other girls were being led to the brothel quarters, unable to take her eyes off him. Something stirred deep within her, a feeling she had always forced with every man she had been with. She grew wet, warm, and excitement flushed her entire being. She knew somehow, in some way, this specter, this deadly, magnificent manifestation of machine and man would be a part of her destiny._

_A demon prince._

_A dark angel._

_And then he looked at her. It seemed as though he sensed someone was not averting her eyes. He stopped at the catwalk's rail and peered down at her. The officers around continued to brief him on various aspects of progress and construction, but he paid them no heed. He didn't move, didn't speak and, of course, she couldn't see his expression. He merely…looked at her._

"_You!"_

_Lylla snapped out of the dark stranger's spell on her. She turned to see the petty officer march toward her. Forcefully, he grabbed her arm and began to drag her. "Keep up, and stop gawking! Do you know what Lord Vader could do to you?! Who do you think you are…?"_

The vision subsided, and the dimness of the chamber seeped back. Lylla opened her eyes, and gazed into Vader's. "I've loved you from the first moment I saw you," she murmured simply.

And suddenly, the Emperor was gone.

Vader furrowed his brow as he sought out his Master's presence. But Sidious was nowhere to be found within the Force. Had he seen enough? A sick feeling began in his gut, but he quickly dismissed it. Palpatine would have to wait.

He lifted his hand. The ripped dress unwound itself from the struts above, and unwrapped from Lylla's wrists. Gently, he caught her and cradled her into his arms, lifting her as though she was no more than a child. She nuzzled her cheek into the crook of his neck. The metal arms encircling felt cool against her skin, despite the oppressive humidity in the room.

He carried her a few steps into the darkness, and she felt him lower her down. The smooth feel of silk greeted her flesh, and she contentedly sank into the softness of what was obviously his bed.

She was quiet for a time. "Is the Emperor still watching?"

"No," Vader answered.

"Then it worked?"

Vader stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"I know you didn't want him to watch us," she replied simply. "You used my memories to distract him."

Her insight was uncanny. Again, he scanned her for any Force ability. He found none. He patted the sweat off her body with the sheet as he silently contemplated everything he had just seen.

She had killed her master. Without fear, without remorse. A mere pleasure slave. She did it to save her own life, but he had felt her rush of savage delight break through him when she plunged the poison into the degenerate's neck. She had taught herself to read, and studied different languages. And, despite her ambition and sheer will, she remained patient, she bided her time, secretly scorning those gluttonous fools who thought her lower than themselves, while using her charms to convince them otherwise, hence ensuring her own survival. Born into despair, betrayed by fate for many years, until this moment as she lay in his bed.

He searched the Force, trying to find an answer, a sign. He had been so alone for so many years. Perhaps after all these years, a new mate had finally presented herself. The perfect woman, a fitting partner… not for Anakin Skywalker, but for Darth Vader. He wouldn't find a queen. He would create one.

"You are an extraordinary woman, Lylla."

She gaped a bit. "You…mean that?"

"Yes. Your cunning and intelligence are most impressive, as is your will to survive. You are truly worthy of my favor."

"But," she breathed, flustered by the Dark Lord's compliments, "I was a slave—"

"I was born a slave," he confessed.

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"I was born on Tatooine, to a slave woman. Named Skywalker." He waited. "You do not recognize the name?"

"No. Should I?"

She was becoming more ideal with each passing moment. He smiled slightly, feeling a bit relieved. "No."

Lylla raised herself onto her elbow. "But…I thought you were royalty. A prince, perhaps—"

"I am a Lord of the Sith." His tone indicated he had nothing more to say on the subject.

Lylla gaped at him, utterly aghast. Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, she bolted upright and pulled him to her, crushing her lips into his and brazenly wrapping her hand around his shaft. She stroked him, firmly and smoothly as Vader responded with a primal grunt, roughly pinned her against him, taking her tongue, her lips. Lylla broke the kiss just long enough to pant, "Take me, now, please, I'm begging you…" against his lips.

He forcibly pushed her onto her back and, gripping her under her thighs, jerked her to him. Lylla gripped him again, pulling him to her, guiding him into her. He hooked one mechanical arm under her knee and pulled her leg up and high as he drove into her in one violent thrust. Lylla cried out, raising her hips off the bed to pull him in. Regaining some control, Vader began to pump her in a slow, heavy rhythm. He cast himself into the Force to soothe his raging desire, to ease the pain that racked his body. No, he would not allow himself relief before her. He would make her scream his name over and over. He would make her his, and his alone.

She snapped her hips to meet every thrust. Vader grabbed her wrists and pushed them back on either side of her head, holding her helpless. Lylla tossed her head back and forth, bucking passionately beneath him, mouth agape, her hair wild and spread about her like dark flames. She keened furiously as she felt his thickness fill her, stroke her, bringing her closer and closer…

So warm, so wet, so eager and taut. Unable to feel her flesh with his hands, he bent his head and savagely took a breast into his mouth, lathing her nipple with his tongue, nipping with his teeth, before moving to the other. A sharp gasp shocked her body when she suddenly felt him inside her mind, her soul, like she did on the Death Star…

The sinister angels had returned, caressing her flesh with fingers of fire, kisses of frost. When she opened her eyes, she could see them around her Lord, undulating over him, silhouetted by the streaks of black lighting lancing through a blood red sky. Her shrieks of passion soon changed to cries of pain, of despair as his essence filled her, just as his cock relentlessly filled her sex.

"Show me," she cried, ensnared in the fire of his burning eyes, "Show me, as I did you. Let me in, let me take your pain…"

Vader released one of her wrists and grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her up and touching her forehead to his, never breaking his brutal rhythm. She gasped again as his life, all of it, blazed across her consciousness.

_Tatooine, yellow and dry. A flying reptilian alien barking orders. The warm, placid face of a woman, years lining her face, but love sparkling in her eyes. A little boy, blonde, beautiful, but sad. Coruscant. Years of training, of verbal jibes, of unmet expectations, of loneliness. A little green toad of a being speaking in broken Basic. A distinguished man, chiding her Lord over and over about behavior and honor and decorum. And then_

_Her._

_Petite. Beautiful. Royalty. He loved her, how he loved her. A wave of elation as her voice declared_

_I'm pregnant._

_But then dreams, horrible dreams. Death. Her death._

_Desperation, rage, fear. Gods she could almost taste it, it was so palpable._

_A bargain. A terrible bargain. Promises of life, immortality, of eternal bliss. Never to be. Never…_

_Her voice again, over and over_

_I don't even know you anymore…you're breaking my heart…you are going down a path I cannot follow…_

_And then Lylla saw him …strong in body, furious in spirit…she watched him unleash his rage, his fear, his pride_

_You've betrayed me! You don't love me! I shall be more powerful than any Jedi has ever been! And you'll pay! You'll pay for your deceit!_

_She grasped her throat, no air, choking…his fist curling tight…killing her_

_A battle. Swords of light clashing. Raging lava and fire all around. The red-haired man again, now his enemy_

_Anakin, don't do it…I have the high ground_

_He jumped, weapon raised. A slice of light through the air, a scream_

_He fell. He saw his own limbs lying in all directions_

_And then the fire, consuming him, eating him alive_

_And the man walking awa_

_Pain. Force, the pain. An operating room, medical droids, limbs of metal and plasteel_

And the pain, ever present, never ending—

Lylla shrieked as the orgasm ripped through her like a rampant inferno. Rage, treachery, betrayal screamed through her. Throwing her legs around him, she bucked violently off the mattress beneath him, unable to control her body or her soul. She raked her talon-like nails down his bare chest. Blood seeped from the gashes.

Vader quickened his pace, thrusting faster and harder, even as he felt his weakened heart might burst. But the maelstrom inside him had taken hold. Lylla wrapped her arms around his neck, and grunted in his ear, "That's it, my lord…take me…_take me_…"

She felt the roar rip through his loins even before she heard it. Vader threw back his head and growled at the ceiling through clenched teeth. Wave after wave of black flames roiled through him as he came, his seed exploding into her, she responding by thrusting him in even further until their loins touched.

Vader held himself above her, desperately panting for breath. Lylla still held him by the neck, and slowly pulled him down, sliding her hands to cradle his head. He brushed her neck with his lips, and she nuzzled her cheek against him.

"I want to bear your son," she finally said.

She felt him tense, and she suddenly feared she had upset him. But before her apprehension could turn to panic, he raised his himself and stated, "You cannot."

"I know," she murmured. "I am barren."

"As am I."

She gazed at him. Touched his cheek. "What happened to your child, my lord?"

A pause. "He died with her."

------------------

She ran her hands over the gown, luxuriating in the play of skin against silk. But when she looked in the mirror, her satisfied grin faded. Stepping toward the mirror, she ran a hand through her hair, which had grown another twenty centimeters since her arrival. And her eyes glittered so pale, they were almost white.

She turned to Vader. "Should I be concerned?"

The low thunder of a chuckle came from the mask. "That all depends. How do you feel?"

The grin returned. "Invincible."

"Then it is of no concern," he answered simply.

Lylla laughed, and spun around, sending the voluptuous skirt spinning about her.

Vader rose from his seat, and paced the breadth of the huge antechamber, the only furnished room in the entire palace. But since this room was not equipped with a hyperbaric system, he had changed back into his armor. He came up behind Lylla, sliding his gloved hands over her shoulders, joining her hands in their play. "It is time to be serious. You will spend 4 hours a day with your protocol droid. You will cover such lessons as etiquette, Imperial history, political structure, and the names and titles of Core aristocracy. Understand?"

"Sounds awful," she huffed.

"Perhaps," he replied, "but you will have to be versed in these things if you are to be my mistress."

She started a bit, and leered at him in the mirror. "Is that what I am?"

Vader nodded once. "Expect an invitation to the Coronation Day celebration."

Lylla turned, and placed her palms against his chest. Leaning into him, she looked up into his eyescreens. "I will make you proud, I swear it."

Vader paused before rumbling, "I expect nothing less."

There was no ground, no gravity at all as Lylla stepped through the enormous palace doors onto the speeder dock. She felt as if she floated, unfettered by anything within this physical realm. She stopped for a moment, and looked into the Coruscant sky. There, she didn't see just black, but every unimaginable shade of it, and all the colors of the spectrum within it.

She touched the brand between her breasts. Still warm. Her mind still reeled with the images she had seen. One in particular invaded her thoughts, and her lip curled over her teeth.

"Foolish little bitch," she snarled at the image of Padme.

But then she laughed. This simpleton may have destroyed him. But she would rebuild him.

"Well, well, well…what have we here?"

The human girl in the sumptuous bed stirred at the sound of the rich baritone across the room. Propping herself on her elbow, she smiled dreamily. "Something interesting?"

"One might just say that." He ran his long fingers through his topknot as he perused the image on the holoscope.

The girl slid nude out from the covers, and slinked across the sumptuous animal furs thrown about the marble floors. The air still hung with the scent of exotic incense mixed with the musk of sex and pheromones, and she breathed it deeply, stretching her arms over her head. She lowered them to wrap around his muscled green-skinned torso, sliding her hands into his silk bottoms. "Xizor, come back to bed…"

Prince Xizor hastily grabbed the girl's hands before they reached their prize. "Watch your manners, love," he growled, "I'm busy." And pulled them out of his pants.

As the girl pouted and stomped back to the bed, the Fallen turned his attention back to the holoscope. He slit his eyes at the vision of the woman standing on the speeder-port of Lord Vader's palace. "And who is this lovely beast?"

"Lord Xizor."

"Yes, Guri," he answered the com.

A low, monotone female voice filled the bedchamber. "I have her in my sights."

"Send your image." Another, closer image of Lylla spread across the holoscreen, this time from android Guri's optical camera. His reptilian eyes raked over the willowy woman. He laughed softly when he saw the heat that flushed her bosom and cheeks, and the dizzying mess of her dark scarlet mane.

"I can always recognize a fresh-fucked look," Xizor purred to himself. A snarl replaced the grin. "Who would have thought that black cyborg sorcerer could function as a man?"

His attention was diverted to the signal of the holopad in the center of his chamber. Stepping away from his window, he moved with serpentine grace to the pad, and immediately fell into a deep bow as the image materialized. "Your Majesty."

"Rise, my friend," Palpatine croaked, gesturing lightly. "This is a cordial call. No need for protocol."

Xizor glanced up at the Emperor, a tad unsure, before rising to his feet. "To what do I owe this… benevolent honor, your Majesty?"

"I take it your network of spies are quite worked up tonight, Xizor," the Emperor sang in a sourly amused note. "As is your holoscope."

Xizor chuckled nervously as he traced an arched eyebrow. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Majesty—"

"You've seen her, Xizor, don't lie to me. You're spying on Lord Vader is becoming infamous gossip."

The Supreme Vigo of Black Sun swallowed a bit. "It's harmless enough, Majesty."

"It doesn't concern me, Xizor. What concerns me is that woman."

"Who is she, sire?"

A crooked, sickly smile tipped the Emperor's lip. "Why, Vader's new mistress, of course."

Xizor's brow went up. "I fail to understand what this has to do with me—"

"Xizor," Palpatine began, almost affectionately. "We are friends, are we not?"

"That goes without saying, sire."

"And friends do favors for each other."

Xizor smiled a frosty grin. "Such as?"

Palpatine paused for a moment. "Have you received my invitation to the Coronation Day celebration?"

"Received and RSVP'd, your Eminence. It is an honor to be invited—"

"Yes, yes, yes," the Emperor snapped hastily before resuming. "While you are there, I would require you to pay…special attention to Vader's mistress."

"How special?" Xizor asked quickly

Again, that noxious smile. "I leave that to your discretion."

A slow, murky grin curled Xizor's face. "I live only to serve the Empire, your Majesty."

The artificial dawn had begun to rise over the Imperial throne when Lylla stepped through her apartment doors. Her slave girl, who had been curled in front of the door, awaiting her mistress' return, jumped to her knees and immediately bowed to the floor.

Lylla regarded her for a moment before uttering. "Rise, girl. I'll have no more of that."

The girl sheepishly looked at her mistress, and stifled a gasp at her altered appearance. She hastily rose to her feet, and took the cloak Lylla handed her. Lylla stepped into the living room, and looked dreamily out the huge portal window that overlooked the stunning city-planet before addressing her slave again. "What is your name?"

This time the girl did gasp, almost dropping the cloak. This was the first time the enforcer had ever asked her name. "Pa…Palissa, my lady."

"It's pretty." Lylla turned to the girl. Her voice was low, regal, and rich. "You serve me well, Palissa. I will reward you with quarters of your own."

"Thank…thank you, my Lady," the girl rasped.

"Do you know how to use the holonet, Palissa?"

She nodded. "Yes, madam."

Lylla nodded, and smiled softly. "In the next two weeks, I shall be very busy. I will need your assistance in preparation for Coronation Day. I have been invited to the Imperial Palace." She allowed the girl a gasp before continuing. "I will need you to contact the finest dress designers on Coruscant." She smiled seductively. "I will need a dress…fit for an _Empress_…"

To Be Continued…


End file.
